The Sinister Mr. Corpse (26 page)

"What?"

Henry coughed, and blood jettisoned from at
least four different openings on his body. "Make sure...make sure
my single gets some airplay..."

He fell over and leaked some more.

"See if you can do anything for the girl,"
Stanley told Veronica. "I'm going after Brant."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Martin lay on the floor in the empty room,
rubbing his jaw. Stanley started to make a sarcastic comment, but
decided against it and hurried out into the hallway.

"Give it up, Brant!" he shouted. "There's no
escape!"

Actually, Stanley figured there were plenty
of escape routes, but he hoped to diminish Brant's morale. He
rushed around the corner. No sign of the lying scumbag
indirect-virgin-killer.

"Listen, Brant--" said
Stanley, and then he hesitated. He wasn't sure if he'd get a better
response by saying that he
was
going to tell the world about what was really
going on, or that he
wasn't
going to tell the world.

Actually, he hadn't quite decided if he was
going to tell or not. He couldn't very well let Brant go on having
people killed, but the idea of melting away into nothingness was
somewhat less than appealing.

"Listen, Brant, I'm not going to tell
anybody!" Stanley shouted. "There has to be an alternative!"

He stopped and listened for Brant's reaction.
He assumed that it wouldn't be "Goodness! Now that you mention it,
I can keep you alive simply by spraying Windex on you every couple
of days!" but there had to be some other way, right?

Brant was silent.

"Yo! Brant! We need to talk this out!"

Nothing.

Martin stepped into the hallway, still
rubbing his jaw. "Did you catch him?"

"Does it look like I caught him?"

"See, you wonder why I said all those things
and yet you--"

"Not the best time, Martin. I'm gonna try the
main exit, you start checking rooms."

"Gotcha."

Stanley ran down the hallway. In theory,
Brant couldn't have gotten out without his badge, so hopefully he'd
realize that they all needed to have a nice long chat about the
current situation. Stanley really hoped that he didn't have another
melt-dart stashed away somewhere.

He reached the exit door. Still locked, and
no sign of Brant.

It only took about five minutes to do a quick
search of the bunker. Brant was nowhere to be found. Stanley and
Martin returned to the lab (which, admittedly, didn't quite fit the
dictionary definition of "lab," but he wasn't quite up to calling
it the "slaughterhouse" yet) where Veronica stood next to the
girl.

"There's no key to the chains," Veronica
explained. "She doesn't seem to understand anything I'm saying. I
pulled out the tubes but I'm not sure what else to do."

"There may not be anything else to do," said
Stanley, sadly. "Brant's gone. We need to get a doctor in here to
take care of her, as soon as possible."

"Dr. Arnzin?"

"No. He's not a real doctor. I mean, he
yanked those bullets out of me, but he's not a real doctor. Call
911."

Veronica nodded and turned to leave, then
hesitated. "You're sure? I mean, of course we need to do something
about this, but you're sure, right?"

"I'm sure. Pretty sure. It would be wrong and
evil not to be sure, right?"

"I don't know. To be honest, right now I'm
very confused."

"I think we're all a little confused."

"I'm the most confused," said Martin.

"All right, here's what we'll do. Veronica,
you stay here and watch over the girl. Martin, you call an
ambulance. I'm going outside to see if I can catch up to
Brant."

"You have a mob waiting for you," said
Veronica. "I'll go after him."

"No, he could be dangerous. I'm not putting
anybody else at risk. I'll be fine."

Veronica nodded and tossed him her badge.

"Not your best picture, is it?" asked
Stanley.

"Go!"

Stanley hurried out of the lab and to the
exit. He swiped Veronica's badge, opened the door, and climbed the
ladder that led to the surface. He threw open the trapdoor and then
very hesitantly peeked his head out, expecting Brant to perhaps try
to run him over with a lawnmower or something.

Brant's car and Veronica's car were parked in
the warehouse. Aside from that, it was empty.

Stanley climbed out all the way and did a
quick peek in each vehicle to make sure Brant wasn't hiding there.
Then he ran to the exit, swiped Veronica's badge, threw open the
door and gasped.

The area around the warehouse was cordoned
off with orange-and-white barriers, but there was a huge crowd
right outside of them. A few of them pointed excitedly at Stanley.
Those who were seated quickly got to their feet as the crowd as a
whole roared to life.

There had to be at least two hundred people.
None of them seemed to be carrying torches, pitchforks, or
tar-and-feathering supplies, but Stanley still didn't feel that his
personal safety was particularly secure.

"He is here!" somebody in the front shouted
into a megaphone. "Everybody, remain calm! Do not let the sounds of
our excitement drown out His words!"

Stanley couldn't believe it. It was that
whacko who'd shot him! "Charlie...?"

"He remembers me! Our Savior recalls my name!
Oh, I am truly blessed this day!"

"What's up with your speech patterns?"

"New speech for a new life! We await your
words, Savior!"

Stanley cleared his throat. "Has
anybody--?"

"We can't hear you!" shouted somebody near
the back.

"Please, Savior, take my megaphone, so that
it might amplify your words!" Charlie stepped past the barrier and
handed the megaphone to Stanley.

"Is this better?" Stanley asked, his voice
booming.

There was general murmur of assent from the
crowd.

"Did anybody see a man come out of here?
Older guy, gray hair, goatee? Walks like he has a rod up his
butt?"

The crowd collectively shook its head.

"Okay, thanks." Stanley lowered the
megaphone.

"Speak to us!" shouted Charlie.

"Don't shout. You're right next to me."

"I apologize, Savior! My enthusiasm for your
return is--"

"Charlie, get the fuck back on the other side
of the line."

"I will immediately, Savior!" Charlie hurried
past the barrier.

"Listen, all of you, I really appreciate your
support. Without my fans, I'm nothing. But things in my life are a
little screwy these days, and I'm not completely sure what's going
to happen to me, so I need to share some stuff with you."

"Yes! Share your wisdom!" Charlie
shouted.

"Charlie? This is your last warning. I'll
send your ass to the back. Anyway, the first thing I want to say
is, don't use me as a role model. I suck. All of us celebrities
suck. And try not to..." Stanley trailed off. "Have you been
calling me Savior?"

"Yes, Savior!"

Stanley took a couple of
moments to fully process that piece of information. "Okay,
now
that
is creepy
and messed up!"

"You are our only hope!"

"If you say I'm part of any ancient
prophecies, I'm going to knock you out with this megaphone. Look, I
encourage all of you to be religious, but don't be a whack-job
about it. Don't worship defective glass or stains on building,
don't say dumb shit about God creating hurricanes to wipe out
homosexuals, and don't worship zombies. At least not this zombie.
I'm not the scientific miracle you all believe I am."

"I knew it!" shouted a woman in the front
row. "It's goddamn makeup!"

"No, no, I'm a zombie!" Stanley insisted.
"But Project Second Chance is doing some horrible things. They're
killing people. And now that I know about it, I can't let it keep
happening."

"Project Second Chance is giving the greatest
gift in the history of mankind," shouted Brant, emerging from
around the corner of the warehouse. "All of you here today, you're
the strongest supporters of Mr. Corpse, are you not?"

The crowd cheered.

"And you're the ones most worthy of our gift,
right?"

The crowd cheered again.

"Don't listen to him!" Stanley said into the
megaphone. "Project Second Chance is bad! All bad!"

"Stanley Dabernath was given
the gift of eternal life," said Brant. "The chemicals that we
synthesized will keep his flesh alive forever. But you, the truly
loyal fans, should know this: what gives him eternal life can also
give
you
eternal
life. The formula in his veins will sustain you just as it sustains
him."

"What exactly are you getting at?" asked
Charlie.

"Do you want eternal life? All of you?"

The crowd shouted its approval of the idea of
receiving eternal life.

"
Then eat Mr. Corpse!
"

Stanley dropped the megaphone. This had
soooooooo much potential to be unpleasant.

The crowd stared at him.

"He's lying!" Stanley shouted. "That's not
the truth at all! I was brought back by witchcraft!"

There was not a lot of time available for
solemn reflection, but Stanley did take a split second to consider
that perhaps the whole supernatural element was something that the
crowd needed to be eased into.

"
Eat him!
" Brant repeated.

The crowd just stood there, looking
collectively baffled.

"It's a lie!" Stanley insisted. "If you eat
me you'll just be a cannibal! And that's shameful! Nobody likes
cannibals!"

"Eternal life!" Brant shouted.

Charlie stepped forward.
"Yes,
eternal life!
"

The crowd surged forth, mouths open.

Stanley turned back toward the structure and
fled. He didn't have far to run, but Brant intercepted him and
delivered yet another one of those manly punches. Brant grabbed
Stanley by the shirt collar and shoved him toward the oncoming
hungry crowd.

"Fuuuuuuuuck!" he shouted.

And then he was caught in a swarm of bodies.
Fingernails dug into his arm. A set of teeth bit down upon his
leg.

Though the crowd was making too much noise
for this to be true, Stanley was sure he heard Brant's cold, cruel
laughter.

Stanley screamed and kicked and flailed
around, but he couldn't get away from all these people. Charlie bit
down on his arm, hard, ripping off a thin strip of flesh. A young
woman grabbed it from between his teeth and shoved it into her own
mouth as Charlie wailed in protest.

He kicked, getting a little
kid (
shit, he's not even out of elementary
school!
) in the face. Stanley's shirt
ripped in half and within seconds had vanished from his body. He
felt at least four different sets of teeth on his arm, and somebody
bit down on his thumb almost, but not quite, hard enough to sever
it.

"
Please!
" he begged.

His thumb came off.

What was going to happen to him when there
was no flesh left? Would he actually become the skeleton from the
posters? Would he still be alive?

An elderly woman thrust her
face toward his eyeball, as if preparing to suck the orb out of its
socket. Stanley gave her a head-butt and heard something
crack
that didn't belong
to him.

"
What the hell are you people doing?
"
a woman screamed. She'd somehow gotten hold of the megaphone.
"
This is insane! Leave him
alone!
"

The crowd's hysteria was too intense. They
continued ripping at Stanley's clothing and flesh. One particularly
crazed-looking gentleman had a pocketknife and was trying to saw a
chunk out of Stanley's belly.

The pain became overwhelming...and then
Stanley felt at peace. This wasn't happening to him. This was
happening to some other poor zombie bastard. He was doing just
fine.

He looked at the psychopaths
trying to eat him and decided that, no, this
was
happening to him, but he was
detached from the proceedings.

This must be what it felt like to die.

Of course, the first time hadn't been like
this, but go figure.

So many things he'd never be able to
do...

...tell Martin just how much he truly valued
his friendship...

...meet Veronica's lesbian girlfriend and
envision the oh-so-naughty things they did to each other in the
privacy of their bedroom...

...reconcile with his parents...

...punch Brant again...

...smell a daffodil at dawn
on Easter morning (where the fuck had
that
come from?)...

...hear gunshots...

No, wait, he'd just heard gunshots.

He became very much re-attached to the
current situation as he realized that somebody was shooting into
the air. A cop. Cops ruled.

"Back off!" the cop shouted. "Everybody!"

Though nobody technically backed off, they
did cease the cannibalism. Stanley scrambled away from them, trying
not to look at all of the chunks missing from his body. He was
shaking and absolutely terrified but knew that if he could just get
back down into the bunker...

"No!" Charlie hollered. "Eternal life!"

He rushed toward Stanley. Another gunshot
rang out and he pitched forward onto the ground, bleeding from the
chest.

At least three women and one man
screamed.

Stanley continued scooting
backwards. His arm twisted at a weird angle and this time
the
crack
definitely belonged to him.